That Word He'll Never Say Aloud
by ImpalaLove
Summary: Tag to 5x04 (kinda). "His breaking point is now, and part of him is sorry because he promised all those people on the other side of this door that he would take care of them, that they could trust him with their most likely limited lifespans."


**Indirect tag to 5x04 "The End" with a few small spoilers for that episode.**

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 **That Word He'll Never Say Aloud**

There is a knock on the door, and somewhere down deep, Dean knows it isn't the first or even the third one. He also knows he's going to need a minute, and if he needs a minute, it means he has to respond this time.

"Yeah."

It's one word, but Dean can still tell he sounds like absolute shit, that one syllable crawling over his tongue like a half-dead ant waiting for meticulously deposited poison to take effect. So he clears his throat and tries again.

"Yeah, what?" Better. That was better.

"Just, uh...just making sure you're okay?" The voice is Eddie's which is kind of hilarious because of all the people in this godforsaken camp, Eddie's probably the one who cares the least whether Dean is 'okay' or not. Which means everyone else already knows the answer, and maybe Dean's not as good at wearing masks as he used to be.

"Jesus, Eddie." Good. That sounds good, too. Good and strong and pissed off. "Man can't get a little peace while he's taking a piss? I know it's the end of days, but have a little respect, will ya?"

Dean's not sure how he got through an entire sentence without choking on his own tongue, but he does, and he hears Eddie huff out an apology that doesn't necessarily mean his half-formed excuse was convincing but at least means he'll have that minute he needs. Dean listens to Eddie's heavy footfalls as he shuffles down the hall, and he's glad the man didn't actually try to open the door because Dean currently has both feet pushed up against it like some kid throwing a tantrum who doesn't want to let his mom tuck him into bed. And screw that kid, because being tucked in by his mom sounds like just about the best thing he can imagine happening right now. But instead his mom is long dead and his back is pushed up against a toilet that hasn't worked properly in years and his feet are pushed against a door that hasn't locked in years and his hands, his hands are pressed against either side of a face that hasn't really smiled in years and he thinks he might smash that face against the porcelain behind him because finally, finally it has all become too much.

His breaking point is now, and part of him is sorry because he promised all those people on the other side of this door that he would take care of them, that they could trust him with their most likely limited lifespans. But another part of him is almost glad, because maybe now it can all actually end. That's what it's been anyway- The End. It began three years, 4 months, and 28 days ago with storms that blew apart cities and a virus that destroyed minds and the Devil himself at the head of it all, grinning wide and ugly.

And even then, Dean hadn't faltered. No matter how grand and terrifying the scale, this was still the job, and the job needed doing. Even without a little brother beside him.

They'd spoken twice since going their separate ways.

The first was three weeks later when Dean had finally called, wanting to know if Sam had heard about the small town in North Dakota that had been seemingly wiped off the map, but really just wanting to know if Sam was alive and hopefully nowhere near it.

"I heard about it," Sam had said, his voice distracted, detached. "I was gonna call, wanted to make sure you weren't stupid enough to go check it out."

Dean snorted and shook his head against the phone, not bothering to deny it.

"Dean, don't." The detachment was gone, concern coloring Sam's words. "You know what it is. You know it's _him_ , and if you go, you won't come back alive."

"Where are you?" Dean had asked, suddenly needing to know. Suddenly needing to be there.

"Not there," Sam answered.

"Where?"

"Look, I think you were right." Detached again. "I think it's best if we just...how'd you say it? Pick a hemisphere? This is bigger than us." The line had gone dead against Dean's strangled protest. Looking back now, Dean knows he should've seen it then. He should've tried harder, tracked him down, never told his little brother to go his own way in the first place because _look what's happened now._

Dean's calls had gone unanswered after that. He lost track of how many messages he left, but apparently it was enough to fill Sam's inbox.

The second time they spoke was two days before the cell towers went out worldwide. Sam called that time. Drunk.

"Hey Dean, do you remember that Jayhawks game? Five years ago?"

Dean was so busy reading his little brother's voice, confirming that it was liquor and not blood loss slurring Sam's words that he almost forgot to answer.

"Yeah Sammy, I remember."

"I said we wouldn't make it in time. We were so far away and you had that cracked rib from the poltergeist so you couldn't go over the potholes too fast. But you just kept driving, kept saying 'We'll make it, Sammy.' And we did."

"Yeah, we did." Dean didn't know what else to say. Sam's voice was scary and far away, but Dean had just decided to keep him talking. "It was a good game, eh?"

"Dean."

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I think this time is different."

Dean's stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"

Sam sighed as though utterly drained. "I think I'm right this time. About not...making it."

"Sam. Where are you?" A raw need again, a need to know where his brother was, how many miles and how many hours it would take to get to him, to just see his face and tell him he had been wrong. Wrong about all of it...

"Dean…"

"Sam, tell me. Tell me where you are right now."

"Dean."

"What? Sammy, _what_?"

"I wish you knew how good you are. I wish you knew just how important."

"Sammy…"

"Dean?"

Dean's words came garbled and fast and pleading. "I can come, Sam. I can be there so fast if you just...just please tell me where you are. It was a mistake to split up. I was wrong to say we're weaker together. We're stronger and I know that now. So can you _please_ just…"

"Dean?"

"Sam?"

"I think you're the best brother anyone's ever had. I really got lucky, at least with that one thing."

"Sammy? Sammy, don't…"

But the line had clicked, and that had been it. Even then, they had sounded like last words, and Dean had gone crazy, looking everywhere and anywhere for his brother. He had stumbled across the first of many who would make up the camp he now sat within. First was Danny, then the much-needed familiar face of Chuck. Then Rita, Roger, Eddie, Cas...but Sammy had been like smoke. Sammy had been invisible, and _now_...

Now Sam had said 'Yes' and Dean was finally coming apart. He pushed his boots harder against the bathroom door, face still pressed between his open palms.

 _Nononononono._

This could not happen. Sam wouldn't. He _wouldn't_.

But he had.

And now Dean really is alone. A camp full of survivors, Cas included, but Dean is on his own. He kicks out against the door hard, watching with no satisfaction as the wood splinters and cracks, just a little. Footsteps again.

"Dean?" Cas this time, tone low and obviously concerned.

"What?" Dean sounds livid, and he realizes it's because he _is_ livid. Furious. Because how _dare_ he? How dare Sam leave Dean to this crapfest of a remaining world? No proper goodbye, no explanations for _why_ , for _how…_?

"Dean?"

"WHAT?" Louder this time, and he kicks at the door again, leaving another dent. A child still throwing a tantrum, but Dean just can't bring himself to care.

"Can I come in?" Cas asks.

"No."

"Dean…"

"Cas, I just need…" Dean stops. He was going to say 'a minute. I just need a minute.' But that's not true. That's not what he really needs right now because the answer to that prayer died before it could ever even leave his lips and the one who could grant it is long gone, was gone the second Dean was stupid enough to say goodbye and now his face hides the Devil's grin but Dean knows he would be able to see the difference right away, knows he wouldn't see Sam anymore. Won't see Sam ever again.

Dean pulls his knees up to his chest, wraps his arms around them and tucks his chin (a child, a toddler seeking comfort where there is none because it's over, Sam said 'Yes' and it's over). The knob turns. The door opens by a fraction. Cas squeezes in through the narrow opening, closes it behind him, and lets himself slide down so that he is seated directly across from Dean on the floor of the now-cramped bathroom. He angles his feet just to the left of where Dean's knees are so that the toe of his right boot nudges Dean's hip. Dean untucks his chin just long enough to glare pointedly at Cas before he lowers his eyes again.

"So this is bad, huh?" Cas says in that infuriating way he has now, all high notes and bleary eyes. Dean just shakes his head and remains silent. Cas doesn't speak either for a long time, and when he does, his tone has changed from the borderline apathy Dean's grown accustomed to hearing. He sounds...sober.

"I always thought it would be you," he says. Dean hates himself for taking the bait, but he needs the distraction from the mess inside his head.

"Me what?"

"You came close so many times, even when Sam was with you. And then when he wasn't...well you've never been particularly good at being on your own. And then you put together this little rag-tag team, and for a while I stopped worrying, because you had a purpose again—someone to lead. But still I thought, one day. One day I would wake up and you wouldn't be here anymore. Just gone."

"Cas…"

Cas shakes his head and continues before Dean can. "And I wouldn't have blamed you. Really, I wouldn't Because you've never been able to watch people suffer, and at least if you said 'Yes', things would end, one way or another," he says. "And I suppose now you think it's over, that it will all end. But you're wrong."

Dean lifted his chin to stare at the former angel in disbelief. "How? How is this not what the end looks like? You know what comes next. You know better than most. Cas, he's...he's gone and I can't…"

"Yes you can," Cas interrupts again, holding Dean's gaze. "You can because of the same thing that kept you from saying 'Yes' for so long. Dean, these people still need you. None of them are Sam, but they need you to lead them, to give them hope even if you don't have any left for yourself. They need you to do what you've always done: survive."

"So you take another minute. And then you can pick yourself up off this floor, and you tell us what to do next."

Cas pushes a palm into the floor and stands. And then he's gone.

Dean blinks. He breathes. He pushes his feet back against the now dented door and scratches at the stubble growing along his jaw, an errant thought about having to shave soon flitting through his head. He sits for another long while, tasting the familiar flavor of that 'Yes' in his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue before he swallows it, before he chokes it down like he has every single day for the last three years.

Dean takes another minute.

And then he picks himself up off the floor and wonders what in the _hell_ he's supposed to do next.

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 **Took a few months off to travel the world and stuff, but I'm back at it now with several stories sitting around just waiting to be edited for the 50** **th** **time before I post them. Thanks for reading, and please review if you've got time! Good to be back =).**


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